Right Wrong and Everything Inbetween
by Confoundment
Summary: Lily's mind had gone completely and utterly wrong.


_Disclaimer: No. I don't own it. _

_Author's Note: Nothing is ever random, and this idea just hit me. I'm not sure if I like it just yet. You tell me. I love hearing your opinions._

* * *

Was this right? No. No, it was completely and utterly _wrong_. Hideously wrong. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not how it was supposed to happen. _This_ was not supposed to happen at all.

I glared at the wall, frustrated, angry. If I was being honest, I would admit that I was infuriated with myself. But I wasn't, I pretended that I was angry with him. I knew that I wasn't actually upset with him. He was, unfortunately, perfectly kind to me, perfectly kind and caring.

I had been horribly ill two weeks ago, and I refused to visit the Hospital Wing. Why would I go when all they would do – could do – is force me to lay down and miss a week's worth of classes? I'd have been so far behind that I never would have been able to catch up. So, I decided to just grit my teeth and suffer through my classes. It was better than nothing. At least I was learning... sort of.

I was only able to handle this for less than a day.

I had managed to complete all of my homework before everyone went down to dinner in my private dormitory, a terrific feat in itself. I'd fallen asleep less than two minutes afterward.

The following day I'd just barely managed to drag myself to my lessons. I kept dozing off, my running nose the only thing to wake me.

By the end of classes, I was dead on my feet. So oblivious that I hadn't noticed James' bewildered and concerned gaze boring into me for the majority of the day. I was always attentive in class, listening raptly to everything the professor said. I'm sure it confused James to see me acting so against character.

I shuffled towards the Heads' Tower, swaying with each step. Suddenly, a large, warm hand grasped my arm with a firm, yet gentle grip. Slowly, I turned around, my eyelids drooping on their own accord.

"Lily... are you okay?" James' hazel eyes smoldered with such intensity. It muddled my already-scrambled thoughts. "It's just... you seem a bit... out of it," he said when I didn't answer.

"Yeah," I sniffed. "I'm just a bit - " I sneezed loudly and it echoed throughout the corridor. I groaned. "Sorry."

"Bless you," he murmured, handing me a tissue. Where he got it was a mystery to me.

"Thanks." I wiped my nose and continued, "I'm just sick."

"Let's get you down to the Hospital Wing, yeah?" He didn't wait for an answer. He slipped my hand into his and began pulling me in the opposite direction of our dormitory and towards the hospital.

"No!" I held my ground, shaking my head. It made the world spin. "I don't want to go to the hospital."

He looked at me quizzically, and so I launched into a seemingly reasonable, at least to me, explanation of why I refused to go.

His face smoothed into a look of concern. "Alright then," he said, changing direction completely. "But you are going to rest as soon as we get there, understood?"

I nodded, smiling slightly.

We were walking side by side. I would sniffle occasionally and he would steal side-glances at me every so often, assuring himself that I was all right. It took me a few minutes to realise that our hands were laced together. I idly wondered how they'd come to be that way and why it was that I didn't mind.

James muttered the password to get into the dormitory and led me inside, still holding my hand.

"Do you want to lay down in here, or in your bedroom?" he asked, his voice quiet and caring.

Where was the snide, arrogant James I knew and disliked?

"I'll stay in here, I think," I mumbled, lying down on the plush crimson couch.

He smiled and covered me with a thick woolen blanket.

"Go to sleep, Lily," he whispered, brushing the hair from my face.

I willingly obliged, falling into a dreamless black.

When I woke, it was one in the morning. James was sitting in the armchair reading by the firelight.

"You're awake," he said, his voice soft, caressing.

"What are you still doing here?" I was confused. He should be sleeping. We hadn't had a patrol scheduled for that night. He should have been in bed, but instead, he was sitting by me.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't want you to wake up all alone or anything." His eyes held mine steady, but he suddenly downcast them, staring intently at his lap.

"Thank you," I whispered, untold gratitude dripping from the simple sentiment.

He merely smiled.

"Go to bed, James," I said, my voice unintentionally matching his soft, kind tone. "You don't have to stay up for me."

"I know, but if you won't have Madame Pomfrey looking after you, somebody ought to." He flashed me a toothy grin; it was weary but brilliant, nevertheless.

"Thank you," I said again. When the hell did he start being so kind, so... _sweet_? I didn't deserve to be treated so kindly, especially not after the manner in which I regarded him.

In the beginning of the year, upon learning that we would be sharing a dormitory, I told him to "keep his fucking hands to himself". And James had done just that, never deviating from being the perfect gentleman and, dare I say it, a friend.

I did not deserve such kindness and I told him so.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "You deserve that and more." He stared down into my eyes for a time. The electricity that burned seemed to hum audibly and I could not look away.

Finally, after what seemed like years, he broke it, his soft voice piercing through the silence. "You should probably go up to bed, Lily, get comfortable, get a bit of rest."

"Yeah," I murmured, attempting to stand.

He rushed over, taking hold of my arm for the second time that night. He led me up the stairs and to my room. He brought me all the way to my bed, lifting the covers as I crawled inside.

"Thank you," I said, for the umpteenth time, in a nasally voice.

He pulled the blankets up around my shoulders, pushing my overgrown fringe out of my face. He had this soft, torn look in his eyes, as if he was arguing heatedly with himself. Then, so swiftly, he bent down, placing a gossamer kiss on my forehead.

"Sleep well, Lily," he whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending pleasant shivers spinning down my spine.

He strode to the door, holding it open.

"I'll be in my room. Just give me a shout if you need anything, yeah?"

I nodded, though I knew I wouldn't disturb him for anything. He was being far too kind for me to have the heart to wake him.

He smiled that warm, kind smile again and I felt this foreign surge of happiness pump through me as that smile was directed to me.

"Goodnight, Lily." And then, he was gone.

If it had been any other night, if I hadn't been thoroughly exhausted from being sick, I would have stayed up for hours, thinking about the events of the night. Pondering the happiness I felt when he had smiled at me, wondering at the feeling of his lips. But it was not any other night and I _was_ sick and tired. Despite this, though, I was still utterly bewildered.

The next several days passed by much the same. In the morning, I would wake to James' whisper in my ear, saying, "Lily, Lily, wake up. It's time to get up. Lily, if you're going to class today, you've got to wake up, now."

I would shiver and open my eyes and he would be _right there_. It was the best way I had ever been woken up.

The first day of this crazed routine, at breakfast, I remembered, a bit belatedly, that I had never completed my homework. James smiled and handed me several sheets of parchment.

"I didn't want you to fall behind," he explained simply, his mouth next to my ear. "Here, have a bit of juice. You need the vitamin C."

This odd series of events repeated itself for five days. Five days where I fell asleep on the couch. Five days where James did my homework _and_ his own. Five days where James stayed up late, watching over me. Five days where I received a chaste kiss on the forehead.

Ever since those five, fateful days, James Potter has been more than a nuisance to my subconscious. Every moment, he is there. His face, his voice, his mannerisms, always there, lurking about, driving me insane. I can't help but take notice to the way in which he has changed. How is he no longer houses such a large ego and how he is far more responsible and sensitive to those around him.

But it was wrong, and it wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't follow the plan. He was supposed to keep on being an arrogant bastard. He was supposed to keep hexing students and pestering me. He was supposed to allow me to loathe him until graduation so I could leave and never have more than a fleeting thought of James Potter. But he didn't and, more than a week after I had been sick, after he had cared for me, he acted as though nothing changed.

But things did change. They changed completely. I couldn't get him out of my head and it was all his fault.

When I would see him in the halls or in the dormitory, I was like a different person. I worried about what I was wearing, though I was almost always in my school robes and looked just the same as anyone else. I worried if my hair was in a mess of frizzed curly tendrils or if I had a bit of food stuck in my teeth. I was afraid I'd trip and fall into him, and at the same time, wished I would.

When he would come closer, though, all those worries sort of just floated away and all I could think about was the fact that he was near. My stomach would somersault and thousands of rowdy bats would awaken in my gut. I could feel my heart tripping with excited life in my chest, the speed escalating with each passing moment.

Sometimes, he would whisper in my ear, "Wotcher, Lily," and I would pretend to scowl, I would pretend that my breath hadn't caught in my throat and that I wasn't practically beaming.

Every time he walked away, something inside me seemed to fall and that grin I'd been hiding would fade away.

When he would press his oversized hand into the small of my back, leading me somewhere or passing me in the classroom, my skin hummed, goosebumps erupted and I was overjoyed.

But I wasn't in love with him. It was a mere infatuation. An obsession, if you will, with the person who helped me when I felt like complete and utter shite. It was nothing. I didn't think about him _all_ the time, just a large portion of it. I did, after all, have _some_ control over myself. I wasn't one of those silly little girls who wrote _JP + LE_ and _James 'hearts' Lily_ everywhere. _I_ was completely sane whereas they were just... unhealthily enamored.

I heard the portrait creak open. I heard his heavy footsteps as he walked into the Common Room.

"Wotcher, Lily." He winked and my glare melted away.

"James," I nodded, taking him in. He had dirt smeared across his face and he was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. "Nice."

He grinned, flashing all of his gleaming teeth. "Quidditch," he said, as if that explained everything, and, oddly, it did.

"Nice," I said again. I had picked up my sketchbook and lazily began to draw, shading and shadowing seemingly random shapes and figures as we chatted.

He asked me how my day had been so far and I asked about his. He spoke of Quidditch and the new maneuvers he had been trying out. I spoke of my meeting with Professor Slughorn and the maladroit nature of it. We ran out of small talk quickly and soon, he claimed desperation for a shower. I let him go, his company was on the brink of becoming awkward. All the while, I kept drawing, thick and thin lines appearing on the page, creating a scene that I never consciously decided to create.

James was still in the shower when it was finished. I was thankful for that one fortunate thing.

I looked upon my completed drawing and I was unable to speak. I was unable to move or think or anything. There, on my piece of crisp, white parchment, was a detailed Quidditch pitch, sketched in dark charcoal and soft pencil. In mid-flight, atop a shining broom, was a boy, his broad chest adorned with the Gryffindor uniform, his onyx hair ruffled by the wind. One of the boy's hands gripped the handle of his broom tightly, his back arched low, striving to achieve the minimum amount of wind resistance he possibly could. Under one arm was a polished red Quaffle. I knew instantly who it was.

I stood suddenly and the parchment fluttered to the ground. Clattering, my drawing utensils hit the stone floor. I didn't care.

I strode out of the Common Room, out of the dormitory, away from the tower. I had to get away. It was one thing to be thinking of James Potter but a wholly other thing to be idly drawing him.

It wasn't right.

I kept walking. I passed by the Great Hall where several stragglers finished up their dinner. I strode out of the front doors, knowing full and well that it wasn't allowed at eight at night. I staggered down the hillside, my breaths quick and shallow. I started to run, my legs carrying me faster and farther than I would have thought. I stopped only when I reached the very edge of the Black Lake.

I peered into the water. Behind me, I could see the castle reflected in the water, it's tall turrets and stone structure magnificent even as a copy. The windows were brightened by soft firelight and they glinted in the water. I moved my eyes, focusing on my own reflection. My eyes were wide and a stark green, brilliant against my illuminated skin, even in the darkness. I saw my chest rising and falling heavily, adrenaline and fear of my own stupidity increasing my breathing. There were hectic red spots about my face. It seemed that the insanity and indecision of my mind was finally showing through.

I turned away. I didn't want to see myself anymore. I feared that I was exactly like those girls, drawing silly pictures of their stupid crushes. I didn't want to be like them.

That's why I sat at the water's edge, despite the mud and the heavy humid air. Going back to the dormitory... see James again... it would not be helpful considering my mental state.

It was another half an hour before I heard the sucking, sticking, slopping footsteps. The person's shoes squished in the mud. The sound was a bit repugnant, but I didn't feel that I could turn around to glare at them. And then, someone was sitting next to me. I continued to stare straight ahead, completely ignoring them.

It was another several minutes before he spoke. I couldn't tell if the deep baritone was a relief or felt more of a burden.

"It's a beautiful night, yeah?" James crooned.

I only nodded.

I could feel him staring at my profile and I felt horribly self-conscious.

I saw his hand reach out from the corner of my eye, and I saw it stop halfway to me.

"Lily... I..." I turned to look at him as he stumbled for words. "I'm sorry, okay?"

This confused me. It hadn't been what I thought he was going to say at all.

"Sorry? Why?"

"Because I have no clue what the bloody hell you want me to do." He sighed, his eyebrows knitting together. "I pester you and you despise me. I leave you alone and you... well, I'm not exactly sure what you're doing. I only know that I have no idea what you want."

"I know what I want," I murmured, my voice soft and somehow sad. "I only wish I didn't."

It was... horrible... grievous... heart-wrenching... to flounder like so, to not know what it was that _he_ wanted.

"What do you want, Lily?" His tone matched that of the days that he cared for me. It made my stomach clench.

I looked up into his eyes, deeply, intensely. I peered into the hazel abyss and pulled him into my own. I felt like we would never break the contact, but I knew that I never wanted to.

"You." The single word was uttered so softly, so quietly, that I was sure he would not have heard it. That one word held so much emotion, so much ardour, it was unbelievable.

He leaned in then, and brushed his soft lips against mine. It was just the barest contact of lips to lips, but never had I felt more. When he pulled away, his eyes were dazed and I smiled. I knew that he had felt it too.

I felt like I needed to say something, to tell him _exactly_ how I felt, exactly what I'd realised only a few minutes before, but I couldn't. My words stuck in my throat and he came closer once more, bending his head towards mine for a real kiss, one that sent rocking waves of pleasure through me. His hand wound its' way through my hair and mine played with the soft hairs on the back of his neck that I had so frequently dreamed about. I felt as though we were in our own little world.

When we finally broke away, James leaned his forehead against mine, a bit out of breath.

His voice was deep and husky when he spoke. "I love you, Lily."

"I know," I said, staring up at him. "I love you too."

He smiled and kissed me once more. I could feel the grin on his lips.

"Oh, and Lily?"

"Hmm?"

"It was a lovely drawing."


End file.
